


Let's Be Alone Together

by writerxinthedark



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Language, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerxinthedark/pseuds/writerxinthedark
Summary: It's been six months since you ended your fleeting relationship with Billy Hargrove and now he's back looking to start over. Can you forget your reasons for ending the relationship and allow yourself one last summer fling?[ON HIATUS]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oooof... this took me so long to write but here it is! I have a lot of feelings about season 3 and I really just wanted to write for our favorite bad boy so here we go!! Please enjoy!!
> 
> My works can also be found on my tumblr, @writerxinthedark (formerly: killer-queen-xo)

The sweltering heat of summer in Hawkins, Indiana was nothing to bat an eye at, especially this year, which seemed to be a new record for the area. The community pool was overflowing with people today but you managed to snag a lounge chair—right next to the lifeguard tower. Not exactly your first choice but beggars can’t be choosers, especially on a day like today.

You desperately wanted to take a dip in the pool but _fuck_ , there were so many people and it just didn’t look enjoyable. The images of a child splashing chlorine directly into your eyes or a random jock not paying attention to where he’s going and inadvertently dunking you plagued your mind so you opted to wait a bit, read a few chapters of your book, and bask in the sun rays beating down on you.

You definitely miscalculated how hot it would be today and after an hour of sitting directly in the sun, you were ready to pack it up and go home; try again tomorrow. Your frilly, all black, one piece bathing suit also wasn’t helping matters and you have no idea why you bought the damn thing to begin with. You were perfectly happy going with a light blue or perhaps green so why black? Oh yes, because the lady at the checkout counter insisted that _black was a slimming color_ and apparently, for some bizarre reason, that mattered to you.

_Oh, don’t play coy, you know exactly why it mattered._

You chastise your subconscious but it’s true, you do know why. Billy Hargrove is why. Which, truly, makes little sense to you considering you were the one that broke up with him. His incessant wandering gaze and unbridled short temper left you reeling on more than one occasion and after trying and failing to move past it, you ended it. But that had been six months ago, so why was he still plaguing your thoughts on a regular basis? Because he was Hawkins resident asshole and while you didn’t condone his behavior, you couldn’t deny he didn’t look damn good _all the time_. That coupled with the fact that over the few short months you called him yours, you learned a thing or two about Billy Hargrove. You learned that his short fuse and random bursts of violence came from a place of pain and while you desperately wanted nothing more than to understand and help him, it felt like a constant losing battle. After awhile, some things could no longer be overlooked.

Speaking of overlooking things, while you decidedly traipsed down memory lane, you missed Heather coming down from the lifeguard tower and now, it wasn’t just the sun bearing down on you but you could feel _his_ gaze as well, burning hotter than any UV ray you ever felt in your life.

“You know, one of these days, a child is going to drown due to your lack of observation,” you muse, “and you’re gonna feel _pretty_ terrible about that.”

You shift your eyes up in his direction and he offers you a small smirk before directing his attention back to the pool, much to your surprise. You expected a snarky remark or hell, even an overly flirtatious one but _nothing_.

“Interesting spot you chose to sit in,” he says nonchalantly, “wouldn’t be a reason for that, right, babe?”

_There he is._

You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath. “There was nowhere else to sit, Hargrove.”

His eyes scan the surrounding area and you take a moment to do the same and _fuck, he is gonna give me so much shit now!_ The pool is vastly more empty than it was an hour ago and there are plenty of vacant seats now so why didn’t you move? Because you traipsed down memory lane like a dumbass and _fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He’s totally gonna be a dick about it.

He nods solemnly, eyes remaining alert and focused on the occupants of the pool. “Whatever you say, princess.”

You arch an eyebrow. _That’s it?_ Lowering your sunglasses a fraction, you glance back up at him. The summer heat had been kind to him so far this year, he was much tanner than you remember and his blonde curls were like a golden halo, mussed lightly by the ever present wind. Your eyes scan down his profile, from his face to his muscular arms, down to his toned thighs and you feel a warmth blooming inside of you that you know is definitely not from the summer sun and it shocks you to your core. It was ridiculous, how could a fleeting conversation after months of avoidance force you down this rabbit hole again? It was like you were back in high school, standing next to Steve and Nancy as he climbed out of his stupid blue Camaro for the first time.

“See something you like, princess?” He asks, eyes still trained on the pool.

You snap your gaze from him, embarrassment instantly coiling inside of you like a vice. You jump up from your spot, dropping your sunglasses and book back down in your chair before setting off in the direction of the inviting cool water.

“Whoah, where’s the fire? Something I said?”

“Going for a swim,” you mumble and you’re not sure if he heard you nor do you particularly care.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll keep an eye on you,” he says and even though your back is turned to him, you can _feel_ the smile in his voice and the overly egotistical cockiness that often laces his tone. You know if you turned around to face him, he would definitely send you a wink and that idea alone sends butterflies coursing through your stomach. _Fuck you, Billy Hargrove!_

You roll your eyes, ignoring him completely. Climbing down the ladder, you take each step slowly, allowing your body to adjust to the cool temperature. Submerging yourself up to your waist, you wade through the water lost in thought. Each time you think you have Billy figured out, he surprises you. One minute he’s passive and completely nonchalant and the next, he’s flirty and cocky and firmly digging himself a permanent home underneath your skin. You can still feel his eyes on you and it’s practically inescapable so you travel to the one place you know he can’t follow. Under. Taking a deep breath, you let yourself sink beneath the surface of the water and away from his lingering gaze. What a travesty. In this moment, the idea of drowning was more enticing than facing the onslaught of feelings you thought you had left behind when you left him six months ago.

==========

It’s not until Billy steps down from the lifeguard tower that you decide to come out of the pool. It’s when he heads for the locker rooms that you make a mad dash over to the ladder to climb out. You were hoping to grab your things quickly and hightail it out to the parking lot before he came back out. Was it ridiculous? Yes. Childish? Oh, absolutely. But, until you could figure out why your stomach kept doing somersaults each time your eyes managed to meet his, you were not about to become caught up in a conversation that you couldn’t have the upper hand in.

Power walking—or shall we say _sprinting_ —over to your lounge chair, you begin picking up all of your items and shoving them down into your pool bag. Book? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Keys? Check. Towel? Towel? No towel. _Where the fuck is my towel?_

“Looking for something?”

_Son of a BITCH!_

Craning your neck in the direction of his voice, you spot him coming up behind you with his trademark smirk plastered on his face and your bright yellow beach towel dangling off the end of his finger.

“Yes, _that_ ,” you say, reaching out for the fabric. “Why do you have it?”

“Snagged it when I came down off the tower.”

“Why?”

“I know you better than you think I do, princess.” He shrugs. “And I knew you were going to make a run for it as soon as I was no longer in sight.”

“I- _No_ , I’m going home,” you state simply, matter-of-factly.

“See, I don’t think that’s true. You’ve been hanging out in that water for the last hour and it’s not until I come down off _that_ tower,” he says, pointing to it as if it personally offended him, “that you decide you wanna _go home_.”

“Funny how you still seem to think everything is about you,” you snipe. 

His smirk widens into a bright smile, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. He appears completely unphased by your attitude. But it was there. It was gone quicker than it appeared but you _know_ you saw it—that _look_ behind his eyes; a hint of desolation you had only seen a handful of times. Billy was strong. Billy was unwavering. But Billy had secrets and pain and he hid all of it behind a tough outer exterior that very rarely _ever_ cracked—until now. He slipped and you caught it.

“Can I have my towel back now?”

“Of course, princess, allow me.”

You can’t fight your sharp intake of breath when he steps closer to drape the towel around your shoulders. His sun kissed skin is close enough to touch and you can smell lingering cigarette smoke mixed with spearmint gum wafting off his breath. The scent sends your brain into a tizzy and you shift your gaze downward, hoping to control the erratic beating of your heart. _I could touch him if I just reached out. Run my fingers along his smooth skin, taste the mint on his lips. No!_ Refusing to meet his gaze, you instead wrap your fingers around the ends of the towel to pull it tighter around your body.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Sure.”

And then he’s stepping away from you and the _longing_ you feel to have him next to you again—to touch him, taste him, feel him, be with him—is jarring and _fuck, I need to leave now!_ Hastily slipping on your sandals and grabbing your pool bag, you grant him a tight-lipped smile and attempt a side step around him but he blocks your path.

“What are you doing later?”

“I, uh, I- I don’t know.”

“Go out with me tonight.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, it really shouldn’t have, but the brazenness of his request has you faltering and you snap your gaze up to his and _oh my, have his eyes always been that blue?_ Pulling your eyes from his, you linger on the calm surface of the water as golden rays of sunlight dance across it— _like the sparkle that lit up his ocean eyes when I used to make him laugh. Stop!_

“I- I don’t know about that, Billy,” you say softly, shuffling awkwardly in your spot and clutching your pool bag tighter to your body.

“What’s your plan then? Avoid me for the rest of the summer?”

“I’m not avoiding you!”

“You’ve been avoiding me since you ended things.”

“Well, considering that was six months ago, I’m surprised you’re still hung up on it!”

—he falters. _Got him._

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say simply, “I have to go.”

You brush past him, making your way towards the parking lot, but he’s hot on your heels. You squeeze through throngs of people mumbling _excuse me_ and _oops, sorry about that_ each time you collide with someone in your haste to get as far away from Hawkins Community Pool as you can—to get as far away from _him_ as you can. _I never should have come today._

His hand wraps gently around your wrist in an effort to stop you and the sudden sensation of his fingers grazing against your skin sends a bolt of electricity sizzling through your veins and in your shock, you whip around to face him, ripping your hand from his grasp.

“ _Easy_ ,” he placates, hands held up in front of him. “Just _talk_ to me, would you? Tell me why.”

You sigh, a deep exasperated breath flaring from your chapped lips. “You know why, Billy.”

“Obviously I don’t,” he mutters.

He pauses for a moment, fingers toying with the whistle dangling from his neck and you’re momentarily distracted when the sunlight glints off the shiny metal and pulls your focus directly to it. Your eyes flit to his fingers and the way they flex around the whistle sends you spiraling down memory lane again and you remember how they used to feel on your skin—smooth yet rough like leather as he traced the expanse of your skin—or how they tangled in your hair when he pulled you to him, devouring your lips with his own as if he was a man dying of thirst and you were the only fresh stream that could ever possibly satiate him.

“-isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

He glowers and the ferocity behind his irises is staggering. He arches a rather perfectly sculpted eyebrow and you notice the scar there for the first time. _Wonder when he got that. Focus!_

“I said, this is about Harrington, isn’t?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. _Steve? Why would this—oh._

“ _Steve_ ,” you correct, “was _a_ reason but he was not _the_ reason.”

He scoffs, eyes rolling sharply at your statement. His demeanor makes you instantly bristle in anger but you refuse to engage. It would be like fighting fire with fire that was continuously being doused in gasoline. _It’s not worth the scene that will ultimately occur._

“Then tell me, what _was_ the reason, _princess_?”

You bark a laugh that surprises even you. “Where would you like me to start, _babe_?”

That _goddamn_ smirk is back on his _stupid_ face and it makes your blood boil with intensity and suddenly, you feel this all encompassing desire to be _daring_.

“It’s simple. You have a leering gaze and an unbelievably _bad_ attitude,” you say sharply, “it’s too much, Billy, and yes, I _know_ what you’re going to say. ‘Looking and touching are two different things, princess,’ but _fuck_ , Billy, it didn’t make me feel too special when I was standing right next to you when you did it!”

He gives an imperceptible nod, darting his tongue out to wet his lips again. “That’s fair,” he mumbles, “keep going, something about my bad attitude?”

You blink rapidly. _Fair? What the hell is going on?_ You expected a fight or at least a defensive disagreement on his end but to openly _accept_ your words, no matter how true they may have been? This wasn’t like Billy, or not the Billy you had come to know. _What happened in the last six months?_

“Uhm, yeah, your short temper,” you say softly, kicking your foot lightly against the pavement. “All of those fights and the violence and…”

You bite your lip in hesitation. Here you were expressing your concern with his short temper knowing full well that if you keep going, you may see _again_ just how bad his short temper could be. You flit your eyes around the pool, taking in all of the remaining occupants frolicking around. Would he actually cause a scene with all of these people? Short answer: absolutely.

“And?” He probes. “Keep going.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. _Oh, fuck it._ “Lucas Sinclair.”

Realization washes over his features like waves on a beach and you know that he knows _exactly_ where this is going. Back to that night. In your defense, you didn’t end things with him until after the new year; a full two months after the events of that night. You _tried_ , you really did, but it gnawed at the back of your mind like a parasite and you couldn’t shake the feeling that weighed down on you each time you remembered it. Unsafe? _No_. More like unease.

“I told Max to stay away from him.” It’s so simple, so nonchalant as if that statement _alone_ would make everything go away.

“You did and she didn’t listen and honestly, she didn’t have to!” You exclaim. “They were thirteen years old and you came barreling into that house with only one thing on your mind—to _hurt_ someone!”

He opens his mouth but you hold up your hand, effectively stopping him.

“I’m not done. I’m not stupid, Billy, I’m _really_ not. I know exactly why you were there that night and it had absolutely nothing to do with what you told Steve.”

He tilts his head slightly and furrows his eyebrows but he knows what you’re referring to. You can see it in his eyes; a mixture of wanting you to just _say it_ but also begging you not to.

“‘I’m looking for my little sister.’ That’s what you told him and technically, yes, that was true but,” you pause, trepidation twisting inside of you like a snake. “You would _not_ have come to that house on your own.”

He casts his eyes downward, fixating intently on a crack in the pavement and avoiding your penetrating stare.

“You don’t know,” he whispers.

“You’re right, I don’t. I have _no idea_ what happened to you before you showed up that night but,” you pause again, swallowing sharply. “ _He_ made you go looking for her, didn’t he?”

He remains silent, eyes downcast and you know you’re right. You’re _always_ right when it comes to this. You remember vividly the remnants of tear tracks on his face or the faraway look in his eyes when he would show up late for a date. How snappy he would be towards you before backpedaling so fast and showering you with apologies and compliments. You feel an onslaught of tears sting your eyes and you tear your gaze away from him with a sigh, blinking rapidly.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say after a moment. “You were looking for a fight that night and it was a perfect opportunity but, Billy, it doesn’t change the fact that he was _thirteen_ years old. I mean, what would you have done if Steve hadn’t stepped in?”

He shrugs and maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he was too blinded by that pain and anger and unfathomable _rage_. It sets your skin alight with that uneasy feeling again and you distinctly remember the point of this conversation.

“You hurt Steve,” you say slowly, “you knocked him unconscious and even after you did that, you still _kept going_. It took Max to _sedate_ you to get you to stop. Do you have any idea how truly _terrifying_ that is?”

He finally shifts his gaze back to, crack in the pavement long forgotten.

“You’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question and your heart cracks. A slew of emotions rage behind his eyes like a storm on the rolling seas.

“I’m not afraid of you, Billy,” you whisper, “it’s more like a worry.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Like,” you sigh, searching for the right words. “What if we’re alone and _I’m_ the one that makes you angry or maybe I say something that you misconstrue as me _telling you what to do_? Is it wrong for me to be worried about that because no one tells you what to do, right, Billy?”

His eyes search yours. “I would never hurt you.”

“I don’t know that.”

He flinches— _hard_ —and you want to take it back but your words are true. You are not afraid of Billy Hargrove but you also don’t know the limitations to his anger.

“Okay,” he says softly, “then let’s start over.”

“What?”

He chuckles lightly, bright teeth on display and your heart skips a beat. He holds his hand out towards you in a silent plead for you to _please, just take it_ but you— _hesitate_. Instead, you pull your towel tighter around your body, lips pulling into a thin line. 

He takes a small step toward you, gauging your reaction, and when you don’t step away from him, he reaches for your hand and twines his fingers with yours. His skin is warm around yours and your heart is beating rapidly in your chest. _I wonder if he can hear it_.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Billy Hargrove. I think you’re absolutely _beautiful_ and I’d love to take you on a date and get to know you better.”

Confusion etches itself across your features and he drops your hand with a sigh. You instinctively want to reach for it again, already missing his skin on yours.

“Look,” he states, “baby, I miss you. I _really_ do and all I’m asking is for one night.”

“Billy-”

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he continues, “we can go to dinner and _talk_. I know how much you wished we talked more and I’ll have you home by eleven.”

You squint your eyes. “ _Talk_? Is that code for funny business?”

He laughs and you didn’t realize how much you missed the sound of it. “No ‘funny business’, princess,” he confirms, “unless, of course, the night goes well and you want to?”

You playfully shove his shoulder and he catches your hand in his again. He takes another step closer and you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“One night. That’s all I’m asking and if you have a horrible time, we’ll never have to do it again. I give you my word.”

You search his eyes, scrutinizing him, looking for any hint of a lie. _Holy shit, he’s serious._

“One night,” you agree and his fingers squeeze your own, sending another burst of electricity right through you. “In fact, I’m going to let _you_ drive the night so I expect to be shown a good time, Hargrove.”

A teasing smirk plays at the corner of your lips and his eyes flick down to them momentarily before settling back on your eyes.

He smiles brightly. “Your wish is my command, princess.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years... but Part 2 is finally here!! There is no Billy in this part but we do get a hefty dose of the adorkable Steve!! Please enjoy!
> 
> My works can also be found on my tumblr, @writerxinthedark (formerly: killer-queen-xo)

Being best friends with Steve Harrington had its perks. You met in second grade, officially, at the wee age of seven. He had been in your class since Kindergarten but pesky childhood ways of life kept you both at arms length—because girls have cooties and boys are gross. _Obviously_. To be fair, the second was still true; boys _are_ gross and being friends with Steve, or really any boy for that matter, proved that time and time again.

You ran in different circles, always aware that the other existed, but overall, you kept your distance and he kept his. Of course, that was until the day Connor Murphy pinched you _super hard_ on the playground after lunch and Steve pushed him in the dirt for being mean. You called Steve your hero and professed that someday, you would marry him. He stared at you hard after you admitted that, taking in your pink overalls and pigtails before shrugging and saying, “that’s cool”. You had been inseparable ever since.

Looking back on it, it was a very naive choice of words considering marriage between the two of you was laughable at best. There was never any room for romance between you and Steve and you didn’t consider him to be _like a brother_ either. He was just _Steve_ —the super cool yet ridiculously dorky friend that everyone secretly longs for but only some get. You told each other everything—things that no girlfriend of his or boyfriend of yours ever knew.

You knew that ‘King Steve’ was only a facade; a ploy he thrust out into the world to shadow his lingering insecurity. And Steve was _definitely_ insecure. You had spent many a night lounging by his pool, drinking beer and sharing cigarettes, while he rambled on about how if it wasn’t for his looks, he’d have nothing. Those conversations used to set your teeth on edge because you knew it all stemmed from his overbearing father who always put too much weight and expectation on his only son. In turn, he’d listen to you prattle on about your own insecurities, always knowing the exact right thing to say to make you feel better. On those nights, once all frustrations were out in the open and carried away by the wind, you two would sit and watch the moon reflect off the water and fantasize about what life would be like once you were both hightailing it out of Hawkins.

You and Steve were basically perfect—two dorky peas in a pod—and it was an unspoken rule that if anything were to happen, meaningful or not, you were to run and tell each other _everything_. This meant that after you signed your deal with the devil to go on a date with Billy Hargrove, you realigned your entire afternoon to drive straight over to Starcourt and ambush him on the job—and perhaps sample a new ice cream flavor or two.

Steve was mid-conversation with a group of girls when you arrived, slowly but surely embarrassing himself with each passing second. _He used to be so smooth_. It was often like watching an interstate pileup, awful to behold but you couldn’t quite tear your eyes away. Robin; however—who was surely becoming one of your new favorite people—was quick to come to your rescue and she took you through the entire cornucopia of new ice cream flavors. You sampled about three waiting on Steve before finally relying on your regular yet simplistic choice: two scoops of vanilla.

“Do you ever wish you could unsee something?” You ask, eyes fixated on the ‘romantic’ collision occurring before you.

Robin hums in agreement before grabbing a spoon and drizzling a waterfall of sprinkles onto your ice cream. “For your trouble.”

“Mmm, nothing says independence quite like red, white, and blue sprinkles.”

She breathes a laugh but shrugs nonetheless. “Yeah, the owner bought a _surplus_ so the expectation is to sell, sell, sell!”

“And they’re shaped like stars too!” You exclaim. “How _festive_.”

She giggles at your proclamation and places the jar of sprinkles on the counter, pushing them towards you; a silent gesture to _help yourself_. You send her a brilliant smile before turning your attention back to Steve and _oh… the girls are gone_. He lets out a huff, tossing his hat onto the counter behind him before leaning against it and resting his eyes on you. A tired smile pulls at the corner of his lips and you squint your eyes, gauging his demeanor.

“Don’t tell me they didn’t want to set sail on your _ocean of flavor_ ,” you tease, “which, by the way, sounds incredibly unsanitary.”

He rolls his eyes but the smile never fades. “Said they were busy,” he mumbles.

“So, they _didn’t_ want you to captain their ship?” You gasp. “I’m _shocked_!”

“Hardy har har,” he mocks, flicking a discarded walnut in your direction. “What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t come see you?”

“You’re early,” Robin interjects and you and Steve turn your attention to her. “I just mean, you usually show up about an hour before he clocks out. You mosey around the mall for a bit and then you leave together. You’re early.”

Steve crosses his arms, a smirk toying at his lips. “She’s right. It’s still the middle of the day.”

You avert your eyes from their penetrating stare, focusing on twirling your spoon around your melting ice cream, watching as red and blue streaks of confection swirl among the vanilla remnants. You chew the inside of your cheek as you lift your eyes back to them and you suddenly feel microscopic as they gaze intently back at you, eyebrows raised, and a smirk adorning both of their faces.

“ _Fine_. You got me!” You exhale sharply, tossing your pathetic ice cream into the trash. “I did a dumb thing today or I _might_ have done a dumb thing today. I don’t know! That’s why I’m here. I need to talk.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.” Steve nods quickly. “About what?”

“I- hmm, uh, I may or may not have agreed to _goonadatewithBillytonight_ ,” you say quickly, wincing as you bite down sharply on your bottom lip.

“I’m sorry, one more time.”

You huff loudly. “I _said_ that I agreed to go on a date with Billy tonight.”

“Aww,” Robin sighs, “that sounds nice.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve scoffs, “you obviously don’t know the guy.”

“So what if I don’t _know him_ know him?” She asks. “It still sounds nice _and_ did you know that he teaches kiddie swimming lessons down at the pool? I don’t know, that’s kind of adorable.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, resting a hand on your chest, “are you serious? That is _so_ cute!”

“Yeah, _super cute_ ,” Steve mocks, “and then on the weekends, he probably terrorizes those same kids up and down the streets of this town.”

“He does not!”

 _That was only the one time_. Max told you that story. You had both waiting by the Camaro when she mentioned it; Billy was the one running late that day, much to your surprise, but she saw an opportunity and she took it. She kept it casual, making it seem like you were both just shooting the breeze, in case Billy were to show up during the middle of it. She mentioned how Billy used a scare tactic, a _dangerous_ scare tactic, on her friends around Halloween. _Bonus points if I get ‘em all in one go_ was what he had said. You weren’t sure of her reasoning behind telling you; maybe she wanted to get back at her brother— _step brother_ —for terrorizing her friends or maybe she wanted to let you know what you were getting into. _Girls helping girls_. Whatever the reason may have been for her, it ended up being yet another reason on a rather long list of reasons as to why you ended things with Billy in the first place.

“Why were you at the pool anyway?” Steve asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“It’s hot? And you’re _here_ so it’s not like I could come over and utilize yours.”

“Yeah but, I mean, you know he works there.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know he’d be working _today_ ,” you sigh and Steve gives you an incredulous look. “I didn’t! There are what, five other lifeguards that work there? It’s not like I know his work schedule! Besides, when I showed up, Heather was working… and then she stepped down and everything else just _happened_.”

“Mhm,” Steve hums, walking forward and leaning on the counter in front of you. “So, you want my advice?”

“It _is_ why I drove out here, yes.”

“Go home,” he says nonchalantly and you furrow your eyebrows. “Go home and call him. Tell him you thought it over and that you don’t want to spend your evening with an _asshole_.”

Robin shifts her eyes uneasily between the two of you before offering up an apologetic smile and hastily removing herself from the conversation. Your eyes are locked on Steve when she mumbles that she absolutely _must_ go take inventory in the back and then she’s gone, leaving you standing dumbfounded and gaping at your best friend.

“I didn’t come here for a lecture,” you whisper, voice dangerously low.

“Wasn’t a lecture,” he says simply, “you wanted advice, that’s my advice.”

“That’s not _advice_ , that’s a… _biased_ opinion at best!” You seethe. “God, what is it with you two? You’ve been going at each other since he showed up in this town and for what? Because he unseated you as Keg King or is it really just because he beat the shit out of you?”

He shrugs. “My face healed but I guess my pride didn’t.”

“Oh, _fuck off_. You make it sound like you weren’t ever an asshole yourself.”

“Yeah?” He scoffs. “Well, I’ve _never_ done half the shit he has.”

“Maybe not, but I do recall you throwing a few choice words at Jonathan when Will went missing,” you counter and he shifts his eyes away from yours. “Remember that? ‘Cause I do; it was a dick move and he knocked the hell out of you for it. Or how about the movie theater marquee? Nancy ‘The Slut’ Wheeler, was it? Also a dick move and I’m surprised the princess even took you back after that. I don’t think I would have.”

“But you’ll take Hargrove back?”

“Well, he’s never called me a slut so maybe that’s the difference.”

He gapes at you before averting his eyes again. Biting down sharply on his own tongue, you observe as the muscles in his jaw jump with tension. Regret coils inside of you like a vice and you feel awful. _This wasn’t the plan_. You didn’t come here to hurt Steve but it’s never been easy to talk about Billy with him. In fact, the topic of Billy has almost always been avoided when you hung out together. _I don’t have time for that now_.

You close your eyes and exhale softly before grasping his hand in yours. He tenses under your touch but doesn’t pull away and you lean down to his level on the counter. You keep your eyes focused on him until he slowly moves his own back to yours. You can see the hurt swirling behind his irises and it’s like a punch to the gut. _Fuck, I’m an awful friend_.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hand in yours. “I really am, I didn’t come here for that. It’s just, it’s not like he spoke to me for two seconds and I instantly dropped to my knees for him.”

Steve chuckles wryly, scrunching his nose at your choice of words. He grips your hand tighter in his.

“It wasn’t like that at all. If you can believe it, I actually spent the whole time trying to avoid him,” you admit, “but we _did_ talk and yeah, it was brief but it was _different_. He seemed different and it was… weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Like, he wasn’t as cocky as he normally was.” Steve arches an eyebrow. “I know, _weird_.”

“Wait. You broke up with him six months ago.”

“I did.”

“So, why now?”

“Now do you see why I’m here? Something is _different_ ,” you emphasize, “I _need_ my best friend.”

His eyes flit down to your interlocked hands and he traces his thumb over your knuckle. Flicking his gaze back to yours, he searches your eyes and the way you silently plead with him is enough to make him forgive and forget the disagreement the two of you had just moments ago.

“Robin!” He yells abruptly. “I’m taking five!”

==========

It takes Steve ten minutes to convince Robin that he’ll be back in no time before she finally relents. Although, you’re certain it really has nothing to do with Steve. During his speech filled to the brim with a plethora of excuses, she diverts her attention to you. You’re sitting in a corner booth towards the back of the parlor with a sullen expression on your face. When you feel her staring, you glance up and with puppy dog eyes and an exaggerated _pout_ , she sighs and tells him to hurry back. It was an unbelievably childish move but it secured what you came here for and you know that neither her nor you will ever mention it again.

Steve drops down in the booth across from you in a matter of minutes, strawberry milkshake in hand. He busies himself with unwrapping a straw from the canister on the table and then flicks the discarded wrapper at you—a perfect shot right down the front of your shirt.

You sigh. “Is this how you used to practice for basketball? Flicking empty straw wrappers down people’s shirts?”

“Oh yeah. You know, because Nancy would have _loved_ that,” he says with a shake of his head.

You laugh loudly, fishing the paper from the confines of your bra and placing it back on the table. He leans forward, lacing his fingers together and slurping obnoxiously from the straw. You observe in absolute wonder and amusement at how quickly the milkshake starts to disappear.

“Okay go,” he says, words muffled by the excess milkshake still in his mouth. “From the top.”

You tell him everything; from how it all started with the flirty remarks to dodging Billy for an _hour_ in the pool even though you grew tired and annoyed after about thirty minutes. You recount how _desperate_ Billy seemed in wanting to talk to you and the despair that flashed through his ocean eyes when you listed off your reasons and worries.

“—then he said he wanted to start over and now I have a date,” you conclude, “so, tell me, how crazy am I?”

Steve’s milkshake is gone. He’s leaning back in the booth with both hands resting on his stomach and his eyebrows are furrowed in what you can only describe as deep concentration.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he muses.

“Which part?”

“The last bit. The flirting and asking you out, that’s all normal, but that last part? That’s weird,” he says slowly, “I mean, this is Billy ‘take no shit’ Hargrove and he not only _asks_ you to explain to him what he did wrong but then he _lets_ you do it in a public place full of witnesses and he just... takes it?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper with a shrug, “I told you it was weird.”

“It’s more than weird,” he mumbles, “he flat out _agreed_ with you. Less than a year ago, he’s giving the kids hell and fucking up my face and now he’s, what, Mr. Sensible?” He scoffs and then his mouth pinches down into a slight frown. “What do you think happened to him in the last six months?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.”

“I mean, obviously we know what we did,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “But, it’s strange because for someone who is always in your face about _something_ , he’s quite the enigma. Do you think something could have happened?”

_Yes._

You shrug weakly, wrapping and unwrapping the discarded straw paper loosely around your fingers. The thought had been plaguing your mind since you left the pool. Thinking back on it, you don’t recall seeing much of Billy at all over the last six months. Of course, that could be contributed to the fact that you _did_ actively avoid him but he was at school every day. You saw him at parties where he continued to reign as Keg King. He picked up a plethora of girls—much to your distaste even though you would never admit it—and continued to drive too fast with his music too loud. He _graduated_ , for fuck’s sake, _and_ he got a job. Billy was, for all intents and purposes, completely one hundred percent _Billy_.

On the outside.

You knew all about monsters. You stood back to back with Steve in the crisp autumn air last November and swung a crowbar you stole from the trunk of his car at every damn demodog that came at you. You survived your monster. Your monster died when a small girl with telekinetic powers closed the gate. Billy sees his monster every day. He calls his monster _dad_ and walks on eggshells in his own home. He is forced to learn _respect_ and _responsibility_ and that obedience is mandatory or you get punished. Billy’s monster is still very much alive.

Did something happen to Billy over the last six months? Most likely. But could you tell Steve that? No. Absolutely not. Because it’s not your story to tell.

“I guess that’s what tonight’s for, isn’t it?” Steve asks abruptly. “To _start over_ , as he put it.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You’re saying I should go?”

“Shocking, I know, but yes.” He shrugs. “It’s just… I keep thinking about what he said about wanting to start over.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighs softly, eyes shifting from you, to the mall patrons shopping without a care in the world, down to his hands as if they are the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to say anything and then: “Do you know what I would have given to start over with Nancy?”

 _Oh_. Nancy, like Billy, was generally an off limits topic when you and Steve were together; not because you _wouldn’t_ talk about her but because that’s not what you and Steve were about. When it was the two of you, it was just the two of you—not you, Steve, Billy, and Nancy—just _you_ and _Steve_ , like it has always been before them and how it will be long after them.

“I messed up _bad_. I made so many stupid mistakes but by some miracle, she came back.” He cards his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “And it was like I was on cloud nine, you know? I apologized to her. I apologized to _Jonathan_. I scrubbed that _fucking_ marquee sign until there was no trace that I ever hurt her but we never talked about _it_ , not really.”

“It?”

“Everything that happened. The lab, the monster, _Barb_ ,” he whispers, a pained expression etching itself across his face. “I thought it would be enough, me being there for her, but it was all just a bunch of _pretending_.” He says the word with such a clipped bite that you wince. It’s like he’s reminiscing and hearing the word all over again, but he now finally understands what it means.

“Steve-”

“I got my second chance and I blew it, but I was so _consumed_ with not repeating mistakes that we never _talked_ about it, about anything,” he exasperates, “and I guess I overlooked her feelings and before I knew it, she was gone.”

“Steve,” you say gently, “I know you loved her and she did too. It was impossible to miss.”

“That’s not the point,” he snipes with a wave of his hand. “The _point_ is that I hate this guy, I do. I _hate_ Billy Hargrove because he’s an asshole that doesn’t _fucking_ deserve you but after what you’ve told me, I can respect him.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline and your mouth drops open in shock. _Wait, what?_

“You can _respect_ him?” You ask slowly.

“He wants to start over,” he says simply, “I understand the desire, I respect it. That’s why I think you should go tonight because that’s what this date is for, to start over, to _talk_ about it. He’s doing exactly what I never did, the _bastard_.”

A breathy chuckle passes your lips. This is not the conversation you were expecting to have when you shoved your way through throngs of people to ambush Steve. Any other time, his advice would be limited to _fuck him, he doesn’t deserve you_ and then you would move on. The same always went for him— _fuck her, she doesn’t deserve you_ —and then he would move on. You never thought you would ever witness Steve _encouraging_ you to go on a date with Billy Hargrove but after the array of emotions that raged inside of you when you finally gazed into Billy’s ocean eyes after months of avoidance, you couldn’t be more grateful. Being best friends with Steve Harrington really did have its perks.

He gazes back at you fondly, a slight tilt to his head, and a question forming on his lips: “Do you love him?”

You blink back the tears glistening in your eyes and with a watery smile, you shakily nod.

“I do. I shouldn’t, but I do,” you admit. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. His bad sometimes outweighs the good but on his good days, he really is _amazing_.”

“Then go,” he says softly, “but if I could offer one last piece of advice?”

“Yeah,” you whisper breathlessly.

“If you do this, if you go tonight and you make the decision to start over with him, then _start over_ ,” he emphasizes, “talk it out, express your frustrations, your worries, whatever else might be bothering you and hopefully, he’ll do the same for you and once you’ve done that, _then_ you can move forward.”

“I know-”

“No, listen.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his own. “He’s gonna fuck up again, he will, and maybe you will too but you _can’t_ use what has happened in the past against each other, not anymore. Otherwise, you’re not starting over, you’re just standing still.”

“Okay,” you say with a grin. “You know, it’s too bad you didn’t get into college. You would make an excellent counselor.”

He barks a laugh, pushing your hand away with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll try again in a year or something.”

“ _In a year_ ,” you press, “not ‘or something’.”

“Yeah. Okay. Now go, go get your man,” he says dramatically, “no reason why we should _both_ be high and dry this summer.”

You giggle as you stand from the booth, pulling him up along with you. When he finishes stretching his legs, you waste no time in flinging your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder; he wraps his arms gently around your back. A soft _thank you_ breezes past your lips and his embrace tightens. His hands linger on your forearms when he pulls back and he gazes at you with softness and a hint of determination.

“Now, one more thing.”

“Oh?” You arch an eyebrow. “You have more advice for me?”

“No, more like a promise. If he does anything, and I mean _anything_ that you don’t like, you tell me and I’ll be there. He’ll kick my ass, _again_ , but I’ll show up every single time.”

You laugh loudly, your eyes glistening with mirth. “You would do that? At the expense of your pretty face?”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Oh my _god_ , Steve!” You push him away playfully and that killer smile all the girls used to swoon over breaks out across his face. “You _know_ you’re good looking! But, seriously, you would do that?”

“Anytime,” he confirms with a nod of his head. “You’re my best friend, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

You smile warmly. “Right back at you.”

“Alright, enough with that sappy shit,” he says, clearing his throat sharply and pushing you towards the door. “I have to get back to work before Robin kills me _but_ do try and enjoy yourself with Hargrove tonight and I expect I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

“Oh, absolutely! I’m certain I’ll have _quite_ the story to tell.”

He smirks, waving you off as he trudges back behind the counter and you exit Scoops Ahoy with a smile on your face and a skip in your step. You have a date to prepare for, and in the interest of starting over, it’s never too late to get started.

After all, first impressions can be tough.


End file.
